Loved
by lyrainthedark
Summary: One hundred ways to love each other - 100 prompts, 100 premises, 100 stories about Date Masamune, Sanada Yukimura, and the love they share. This fic is meant to be read alongside naqaashi's story "Beloved."
1. Chapter 1

_~ Oneshot Collection: Loved ~_

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><p><strong>AN: My braintwin, naqaashi **and I came up with the idea to write complementary Sengoku Basara stories. We are using 100 prompts from the Livejournal community Fanfic100.****

To that end, we will write two collections of stories. Hers is called Beloved** while mine is called **Loved. **Our collections will feature 100 standalone drabbles/one-shots each. Each individual chapter in these collections will have a common theme/premise and prompt, with the chapter itself being our interpretation of that prompt and theme.**

**We will update at the same time. To properly enjoy our stories, please read both of them together!**

**Prompt: Beginnings**

**Premise: Yukimura loses an eye.  
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**I  
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**The Right Side Of Night**

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><p>The wound is fire.<p>

That, he expects.

It is the same as all the other things that are Yukimura., and as long as that is all it is, even if the agony is sharp and quick as flame he can handle it.

There is more that he is _not_ expecting.

The dreams – the dreams in which he has two good eyes, the dream of the blade descending, hot and furious as it pierces the tender flesh below his right eye and then rips upward – the dream of the blood that flows in a warm flood down his face, a flow that he feels even as he wakes, gasping, clutching at his eye.

The ache – the hollow ache, the dull pain of twitching muscles that are always turning an eye he does not have in directions he cannot see. The crawling sensation of blindness on one side, the paranoia that grips him at every sound, every footstep -

But it is the loss of his prowess that strikes him worse of all. Distance changes uncertainly; his blind spot is enormous; he is always vulnerable from his right side.

Worse than all of this is the change in his heart, which he will not admit even to himself.

Yukimura is _afraid_ now. He is afraid that death will come and take him unawares.

He is afraid that now, his death will be ignominious.

He is afraid that glory is forever beyond his reach.

He has forgotten that his chosen foe is the One-Eyed Dragon.

The One-Eyed Dragon has not forgotten him.

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><p>Two battles follow the altercation that cost Yukimura his eye; in both of them, Masamune leads the armies of Oushu to crushing victory; in both of them, he observes at a distance the Tiger of Kai leading his own forces...without Yukimura.<p>

It is Yukimura that Masamune is waiting for, looking for, as his blades run through enemy samurai like lightning, like water. The first time, when he does not see him, his immediate thought is to turn around – for though Kojuurou is with him, if Yukimura is not in front of him, he _must_ be behind.

Yukimura is not anywhere, and Masamune wonders – but his thoughts are distracted by the eager fount of battle spilling over all around him, and he turns back to the art of war with signature aptitude.

The second time, a week has passed. His spies report no sign of Sanada Yukimura anywhere; the land is quiet and still and then battle comes again, as it does, and in its depths he sees the standard flying over the head of the Tiger of Kai, and his heart leaps -

And then is silenced. There is a quaver in him now, a worry that will not be quenched without knowledge. His eyes fixes across the battlefield on the Tiger of Kai, and he hears a foolish shout in his memory that he hopes has not been silenced forever -

"_Oyakata-sama!" _

Impulsively, as he makes most decisions, Masamune rushes the battlefield alone.

"Kojuurou! There's something I need to do. _**Cover me.**_"

A half-shouted warning, a tone of displeasure, is not enough to keep him still, and in three minutes Masamune proves his reputation as _Dokuganryu_, because he is standing unthreatened before the Tiger of Kai, and he isn't even breathing hard.

The greeting he gets is nothing like he imagined.

"So! I wondered if you would come to me this time, Date Masamune, _Dokuganryu_. I tried to bring Yukimura with me, but he is not to be moved – even if watching you, fighting you, is just the thing to help him!"

Masamune raises an eyebrow, sheathes his swords.

"Is that so?"

The Tiger of Kai gains a grim and serious face.

"Yukimura was wounded in his last battle, _Dokuganryu_. He is more your mirror now than ever; he has lost his eye."

And Masamune stares, and stares, and stares.

And then he chuckles.

"Well, what are you waiting for? We have a battle to fight!"

His eye narrows to a blue crescent of cutting intensity.

"And then we'll be leaving together, you and I. You're taking me to him, _**you see**_?"

The Tiger of Kai does not disagree.

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><p>Yukimura sat in the courtyard of a conquered <em>shiro<em>, watching idly from his one good eye as flower petals and leaves fell from well-planned plantings, fanning out on the surface of his sake – pink petal, blue petal, red-tinted leaf. It was not his first drink of the night, and he did not plan for it to be his last, but the red threads of fate that have tied his life together are twisting into a strong and slender rope – by chance, and through pain, the path to all he desires has opened.

Masamune came quietly, taking note of the subconscious cocking of Yukimura's head to every sound on the right side. It brought him to an easy conclusion.

His fist slammed out of nowhere, gave Yukimura no warning, and in half a second Yukimura was flat on his back, protecting his face with his hands and kicking out in the direction of a foe he had not yet seen.

When he did look up, he saw Masamune standing over him, dressed casually in white haori and blue hakama. For the first time, Yukimura's gaze fixed on the blank side of Masamune's face, on the black patch that is not-quite-hidden by the soft fall of his hair.

"What is it you're doing, _**Red**_?"

Yukimura started, scowled, and pushed himself to his feet. Masamune didn't offer his hand; Yukimura wouldn't have taken it if he had.

"Drinking – until you spilled my sake."

"Your fault – you were rude, _**Red**_."

"Don't call me that – and I wasn't rude."

He turned away and showed Masamune his back. Masamune was not deterred. Yukimura heard sake pouring, the dull, faint thud of the bottle being placed down on the grass.

"You missed our date. Two entire battles without you – so I came looking for you, _**you see**_? I thought you'd let someone else kill you – but apparently you've been sitting here the whole time -"

Yukimura's face grew dark at the mocking tones in Masamune's voice, and he turned swiftly to face the man his heart had chosen as foe and focus.

"_You_ -"

But he stopped, because he had been about to say _you don't know, you don't understand_ – and he was aware, as he stared into Masamune's face, that here was one man who _did_ know – who _did _understand. It hit him suddenly, more heavily than the blow to the face.

_Dokuganryu._

The One-Eyed Dragon – one of the most feared of all samurai, powerful, strong – there was no foe he could not conquer, no man he feared. Faint echoes of bitterness sang in him, tightened the line of jaw and throat – and then Masamune reached out, and traced that shivering line of tension with callused fingers, testing.

Yukimura gasped; for no reason he could explain the gentle touch was like flame, a line of heat that flared and shot through his body to his loins.

Masamune spoke quietly, thoughtfully, his fingers still moving, reaching up now to run through Yukimura's bangs, hanging shaggy over his bandage.

"Your master was right, Sanada Yukimura."

He enunciated the name slowly, perfectly. The sound of it sent a shiver through Yukimura's whole body.

"_He is more your mirror now than ever_, he said. And you even lost your right eye...the right eye..."

His wandering fingers moved lightly over the bandage, and then down the other side of Yukimura's face to his throat, the lean line of dancing muscle, the throbbing pulse invisible beneath the skin.

"I know your feeling, _**Red**_. I know everything you've been thinking and all of your worries and the fear you're hiding – the fear that keeps you away from the battlefield -"

And suddenly, hearing the words, Yukimura knows both that they are truth, and that they are the last thing he wants to hear. A thousand thoughts cross his mind in a moment; he grasps at any possibility, any idea that might shut Masamune up.

In the crossfire of sensations and feelings and fears, there is one idea that seems terribly, terribly good – or terribly, terribly bad.

Before he could decide which, before he could second himself, Yukimura acted. He pressed his lips against Masamune's lips, and had only a single moment to be surprised at the softness of them before Masamune pulled away, a strange glint in his eye now, a stranger smile on his face.

"What are you doing? That's how you kiss a woman! I'm no woman, _**Red**_."

What follows is a firestorm, a typhoon, a merging of opposite natures into one scattered being. Yukimura's breaths are ragged, torn by desire and inexperience and the knowledge rushing through him, the knowledge he knows Masamune shares.

All their battles have been building to this, every bloodletting a prelude to these moments of torn silk and throbbing flesh in tandem. Yukimura's hands are everywhere; Masamune's tongue traces a line down Yukimura's chest, tasting sweat and spilled sake.

"I will fight you every day, Sanada Yukimura."

Yukimura closes his eyes and lets that shiver traverse his skin again. The fear is fading away, only half-recognized; Masamune's presence is enough to bring back what he needs, to remind him:

His life is built on luck and training; he is one of the strong, and he _will_ be stronger still. Even now; _especially _now.

"I will fight back, Date Masamune."

He feels Masamune's smile against his mouth as his hakama and fundoshi fall away.

"I'm counting on it."

After that, what is beginning between them requires no words.

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><p><em>Fin<em>

**Don't forget to read Beloved **by naqaashi**!******

**Please Review!  
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	2. Chapter 2

_~ Oneshot Collection: Loved ~_

**II**

**Because Blue Skies Are All I Have Of You**

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><p>The last thing Masamune saw was red – red sunset, red pain, red jacket, red light of love.<p>

"It's..._fire_. _**Red**_, I promised...to win."

Red eyes, brown gilded and reflecting the rest of the red, red world. Red eyes, and the tears falling from them clear and thick and fast. In that moment the war is lost and meaningless thing, and Yukimura is just a boy, not a general, not a fighter -

The feelings that are so strong in him right now he has no words for; they have been with him since the first moment he saw the man in his arms, but until this moment they have been nothing –_ nothing_.

Now, he knows that until this moment love was a whisper, a silken sheath for an unacknowledged sword.

Now, that sword plunges naked into his breast.

Masamune's voice flows over him.

"...I'm glad. It's you. You don't forget – you remember me and everything, _**you see**_? It's up to you – _**party's over**_, _**Red**_."

Taste and smell fade from Masamune first, eliminating the slaughter house odors, taking away the copper flavor of blood in his mouth. It is his sight that goes next, and then the sounds of the world, dim and dimmer, coming through a cottony blanket of dull warmth.

The pain goes last - the broken aches, the sharp dark agonies - but as long as it lingers, as long as Masamune can feel, there is the wetness of not-his-own-tears on his face, and the pressure of the lap supporting him against his back, and a whisper of breath near his ear, words he cannot hear -

But he knows them anyway, and smiles.

_It's a promise, **Red**._

The red-beating sun of his life drops below the horizon.

Night falls.

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><p>Years pass like the smoke of a summer fire, but not much changes.<p>

Yukimura lays his spears over his shoulder, looks out over the battlefield with pride and the calm that comes from having seen many such sights.

It is his day of victory, but it does not really belong to him; he knows that and feels no anguish at the thought. It is the last battle, and he has fought it well.

The last battle of a lifetime of combat and glory and gore, the last battle of conquest, the last battle of the age that the future will call _Sengoku Jidai_.

The last battle, with which he has fulfilled the calling of his life; the calling he has carried since he became solitary thunder, the companion to a lost bolt of lightning still wandering in this world alone.

Now, though...now, he feels content, though everything is coming to an end.

He has kept all his promises, fulfilled the words on which he has built his life. Slowly, Yukimura sits down on a patch of green grass and lays back. He stares up into the sky, blue and cloudless and overwhelming in its brilliance, a great wash of lazuli color powdered over with a silver sheen, and he speaks to the one who is never far from his side.

"I did it for you, _Dokuganryu_. I saved Oushu and the Land of the Rising Sun; I didn't waste your sacrifice – I finished Nobunaga and Hideyoshi both, I closed the way that leads only into chaos. I took your path, your journey, and made it mine."

His eyes close to crescent-moon slits, and the heavens become the world.

"I kept my promise, Date Masamune. I kept my promise, and I love you."

The last thing Yukimura sees is blue – a blue eye, a blue jacket.

A blue and endless sky.

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><p>AN: Part II of the Beloved/Loved series I'm working on with Naqaashi! You know where to find Beloved! (And if you don't, check the A/N of Part I, which will tell you!)

Prompt: Ends

Premise: Yukimura/Masamune, "On The Road"

Please Review!


	3. Chapter 3

_~ Oneshot Collection: Loved ~_

**To The Victor**

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><p>After so many wars – wars with armies and with great warriors, wars with pride and with accepted social standards, wars of violence and destruction and the failure of great power - after all that, it was a war of <em>innocence<em> that seemed like it would defy Masamune's power.

After all – how could he claim victory if his rival wasn't even aware of the battle? Every single sally was met with ignorance – moments of closeness when the sparred, long exchanges of unsubtle glances – it had begun as cute, this ignorance, cute and irresistible...but now...

Now, Date Masamune wanted Sanada Yukimura, and could not for the life of him understand how someone – _anyone -_ could be that naïve. It was as if the feelings recently admitted between them, the acknowledgment of love, had dropped a barrier in the younger man's mind that prevented further closeness.

When flirting produced no results, when teasing was turned aside without effort, without even, it seemed, notice, Masamune found himself staring two possibilities directly in the face – a disconcerting thing to do with only one eye. Either there was something about _himself_ that was off-putting to Yukimura, something that eliminated all want -

Or Yukimura was just so naïve, so bashful in his desire, that unless Masamune took a far more _direct_ approach than he was used to, it was likely they would spend the rest of their lives circling around each other, never more passing between them than words, caressing each other only with lovely blades.

And there were _so many more things_ Masamune wanted to do to Yukimura -

It had been three months since they had won their final battle, nine weeks since they had brought their nations to peace – six, since the usual battle had led to a most _un_usual confession.

_My confession..._

Even now, the thought brought a smile to his face. The clash of blades – six swords, two spears, and two hearts beating in time; the flush on Yukimura's face, his parted lips, the lithe and dancing movements of his body as they battled; the challenge in that laughing voice as the point of Yukimura's spear drew a thin line of blood from Masamune's chest in the spot where his haori gaped open as he moved.

"_What's got you so distracted today, Dokuganryu?"_

The answer had come out of him effortlessly, as if it had been planned.

"_I'm in love with you, __**Red**__."_

Yukimura's reaction had been priceless; his surprise had gained Masamune his first and – so far - only kiss from the Cub of Kai.

"_Oh – oh is that what...I'm feeling?_"

Those words escaping Yukimura drew Masamune on, gave him hope, made him think that shy inexperience alone was holding Yukimura back.

If shyness was all - it wouldn't last long, not in his warrior boy.

If shyness was all, he would break through it before the night was over.

_I will go to him while he is bathing tonight – I will give him every opportunity to get away, to change his mind...and when he doesn't, when there is nothing for him to say but yes..._

"You're going to be all mine, _**Red**_. _**All mine**_..."

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><p>Yukimura had been unprepared from the beginning.<p>

The violence, that he had understood – but anything else, even coming from Masamune, met a barrier of ignorance and naiveté made thick by a lifelong devotion to training and battle and power. The confession he had received, the kiss that had been stolen from him – even his own words, emotion startled out of him...he didn't understand.

Or rather, he understood, but the way to express that understanding was beyond him. He did not _know_ how, did not even know how to ask...and in trying to figure it out he only managed to second guess himself into a metaphorical corner.

Now, six weeks into this strange cohabitation with his...could he call Masamune his rival, still? They fought, but in fun, and not as much lately – not since Masamune had trespassed with those terrible, wonderful words.

"_I'm in love with you, **Red**."_

He sat in the bath, head leaning back against his shoulders, eyes closed; he was an image of calm, but his thoughts were in turmoil.

_Even that I messed up. I should've had something good to say – I should've at least told him...I love him, too. Not asked, not stupidly stuttered, **told**._

His cheeks brightened to a dusky rose at just the thought, the fantasy.

_If I had, would he have taken more than just a kiss, or more than one? _

The taste of Masamune's lips was burned indelibly into Yukimura's brain – sweat, sake, lightning. Equally indelible were the imprints of heat on his chin and chest where Masamune's hands had lingered, waking a shiver of desire that bloomed in awkward moments, becoming a wracking seizure of want.

_I should go to him, tell him I want...something. Go to him **tonight**, and make him tell me what it is I'm supposed to do now – why he doesn't do anything else – why he hasn't come to me. But then he might laugh in my face – or not open his door – or send Kojuurou out to send me away. _

If he had been able to interpret the promise of Masamune's constant gaze, he would not have had a single doubt – if weeks of casual touches and tongue-touching-lips moments had made an impression on him, he would have known everything he needed...

But Yukimura was not aware, did not comprehend, and so he groaned and slid completely into the bath, staring up at the slat roof of the _onsen_ through rippling water.

_Maybe it would be easier to just stay down here_.

He contemplated the benefits of drowning – namely, avoiding this entire awkward situation - for an entire fifteen seconds. Then his vision of the ceiling was obscured by a flash of cloth, a double flicker of ivory silk and then blue, and Yukimura came up out of the water sputtering and shocked, his eyes wide.

Masamune stood in front of him, naked except for the fundoshi tied around his hips, the fundoshi that nimble fingers were swiftly, casually _un_tying.

Water dripped from Yukimura's hair and down his body, pooled in his navel and beaded on his skin. He had no idea, not even the slightest clue, of the picture he presented to Masamune. Masamune's eye had caught on the wicked slant of Yukimura's hipbones, angled just so above the water, drawing his gaze down, down, down...

And then up, up across the glistening, well-defined outline of each muscle in Yukimura's abdomen, Yukimura's, chest – up, over fawn-brown nipples and smooth, tempting collarbone and flushed, slender throat.

Masamune drew in a deep, heavy breath, and licked his lips. Arousal burned in him, a fire as hot as Yukimura's fighting fury; it was a spear that stabbed him, reached the heart his rival's weapon had sought but never reached in battle. And he saw an answering response, an equal reaction, on Yukimura's face – saw all the ignorance and confusion shocked out of him in one moment, as Masamune dropped his fundoshi to the floor and stood naked and unashamed.

Yukimura's eyes traced a similar path to the one Masamune's had followed. The trek his eyes made was uninhibited by anything – he found himself devouring the look of hard lines in limbs and movement, the smooth dips of abdominal muscles leading his gaze downward.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Masamune's rigid erection, hard flesh drawn taut and throbbing against his belly; he looked up, quickly, saw that Masamune's eye was roving across his skin, but always turned toward that _one spot_.

Masamune's steely gaze left a smoking line of lightning on his skin, sent a tingle of pleasure striking inward to his loins; his right hand wrapped loosely around the turgid flesh and slowly, shuddering with the new intensity of sensation that was Yukimura's eyes on him, Masamune engaged in an open and blissful act of self-pleasure.

Yukimura licked his lips, felt his mouth go dry. Inside him was a blaze, a bonfire, a heat as great as the sun's and growing.

The softest of moans escaped Masamune's lips.

Tentatively, Yukimura mirrored Masamune; his hand slipped down and grasped his erection, copied the movement he had seen Masamune make.

_Pleasure -_

"Oh – oh – oh -"

With three swift steps and a splash he was in the water with Yukimura, submerged up to his thighs. His mouth trapped silence, claimed Yukimura's lips, and then moved to his throat, his neck, the smooth, tanned skin of his chest, the brown, tight points of his nipples.

His voice was hot and sharp in Yukimura's ear; his breath was cool and soft.

"You've kept me waiting_ so long_, _**Love**_."

"I didn't – I don't – its -"

"Your first time – yes. I will show you _everything _-"

A low, groaning cry spilled out of Yukimura's throat as he felt the extraordinary same-but-difference of Masamune's hands on him, replacing his own - as he heard the rough, restrained desire in Masamune's voice.

"Touch me, _**Love**_."

With one hand, Masamune guided Yukimura's fingers to his erection, let out a shudder of breath as an eager, inexperienced hand explored smooth skin and pulsing heat, found a slow rhythm that was a tender torment. He matched Yukimura movement for movement, his eyes locked on the parted lips, the rapidly rising and falling chest, the rising, spreading flush of rosy color beneath his skin.

He knew the moment when Yukimura's climax was unstoppable – he saw it, spread beautiful and open on those precious features, felt it in the sudden tightening of his muscles, the sharp, indrawn breath and bucking, thrusting hips -

And then Yukimura took Masamune's word, a word whose meaning he knew only by instinct, and let it pour out of him with the hot, tight rush of pleasure.

"_**Love, Love, Love, Love, Love **_-"

It was the sweetest sound Masamune had ever heard.

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><p>Prompt: Middles<p>

Premise: First Time (Yukimura's unbelievably enduring and endearing naiveté).

A/N: Mostly just fluff, and smut...but I do like that combination :D It's also fun playing with Masayuki, as always. Keeping the hardcore smutz aside for later, you see...don't want to break poor little Yuki's brain :p


	4. Chapter 4

_~Oneshot Collection: Loved~_

**Shadow Vision**

He has been waiting for death for one hundred days. It has been that long since the infection began, spreading black and furious and final around his bloody arm; that long, since he last stood on his own two feet, since he last bore the weapons he had become known for, since he had last felt like a whole man, a whole person.

The time before that hundred days, before the suffering and the agony that had inflicted worse torments on his mind than on his body – that time runs before his eyes now like a hazy, shuttered dream. He wonders if it had actually happened, if it is really his life he is remembering, or perhaps just the fever, the terrible fever that sweeps over him like waves of fire -

_Fire, bright and dancing in his eyes, dancing like a thing alive, consuming the ruins, the bodies, the night._

"_You're so slow -"_

"_**I'm **slow? Ha -"_

"_You sure are – and look at this – this mess!"_

_Silence between them, full and deep, neither of them laughing, then both of them laughing, laughing in the midst of death because they are alive, laughing in the midst of destruction because now, here, in this moment, something new is waiting to be created from the ashes. _

_Rain falls out of a darkening, stormy sky. The downpour is torrential; the flames among the ruins are quenched. _

_But not the burning of the One-Eyed Dragon; not the burning of his Tiger youth. _

He grasps at the vision, at the memory, at the image fading before his eyes; it is gone, like wisps of smoke, vanished like all that is tangible of his life. The men who supported him, who stood around him – they are gone now, trying to make peace with the war that is his lands, peace with the violence that is spreading with the rumor of his _indisposition. _Of its ultimate and final permanence – of the inescapable, inexorable pull of his mortality.

The lands and powers and titles that were his – they are lost now, lost to weakness; if a miracle of the kami were to heal him now, it might not matter. What troops, what servant, would follow a defeated man?

No...he had come to the one battle he could not win, the one fight in which he was stripped of all confidence and all power; a defeat to which he would succumb, like all other men. He was mortal, after all – he was not meant to endure, he was not the sea or the sky -

_The sky, the stormy, stormy sky. _

_The rain fell on them, washed blood away from their hands and faces first, and then, as they turned to each other, as they stared and then rushed and reached and fumbled, lips pressed together; the sound of the water in their ears, the sound of heartbeats in their ears; the feeling of hot flesh cooling under the flow of rain, the slickness of wet silk and wet skin beneath._

_Lightning, explosive – the electric signals of Yukimura's nerves, tempered for pain, lost in ravenous pleasure._

_Thunder, roaring – Masamune, mounting his lover, his hands rich with their gifts, their teasing, their touch deeply slow._

_His tongue follows the path of many small droplets of water that cling to Yukimura's skin – and there are many, so many that Yukimura's moans of **everywhere** and **more** gain him only the torment of that feeling, again and again._

_They are both samurai, both warriors, neither content to let the other claim a victory. Yukimura learns quickly and applies everything he learns – the dance of fingers on nipples, pinching, pulling, rolling, rubbing lightly, so lightly just over the very tips..._

_The pulsing sensation of those fingers on his erection, the lucid want in Masamune's eyes, the shifting throb of pleasure between his thighs, the gasp that tells him he has done exactly the right thing, reaching out to equal that pleasure for Masamune -_

He arcs in his bed, legs spread, waits for more and more, feels the pleasure and the warmth and the rain fading, leaving him, drawing away like morning dew, like mist. The world is a blur when he opens his eyes, a whirling shadow of disoriented concern. He sees shapes like men and furniture consumed by shadow and fire, watches the patterns on kimono that come to close rupture and run out of reality.

He hears voices, and some of them are familiar, and some of them are not, but the more familiar the sound is the more he aches inside, wanting silence, wanting solitude, wanting this world to go back where it came from and leave him alone with his dreams and his desires.

In a single lucid moment he looks up and sees quiet sorrow on the face of his closest friend, his many-years companion, sometimes guard, sometimes guide, sometimes follower on a sorrowful road – always an advantage. Always a friend...but that was not enough -

_It was not enough. It could never be enough, and when Masamune is finally hovering over him, blunt, rigid flesh prodding at the virgin entrance to his body, shivering with want as Yukimura is shivering with want – it is everything he wants, everything he has ever wanted, and that first invasion, the smooth pressure, the sensation – the sensation - _

_His hands clutch at the earth over his head; his body tightens and turns and he wails and begs for more, for deeper, for harder, for rough, rough, rough and love, love, love. He feels Masamune's mouth moving across his throat, down, his breath hot, panting, precious. He feels rhythm, passionate, perfect, cannot restrain a gasp, a moan, a cry that becomes a wail when Masamune prods something inside him, over and over and over._

_His climax is sudden and sharp and intense, and he feels drained and desirous and there is a twitch, a pulse of fresh, overwhelming lust because Masamune is still inside him and the night is just now beginning, the moon just now rising -_

It is a crescent moon now, thin and dim, like a pair of cupped hands spilling night across the sky. It wavers in his vision, vision that dips into blackness and then resolves itself like disturbed water returning to stillness. The intensity of his memory fades, brushes itself back from the world.

For the first time in one hundred days he sees clearly, sees a face he has missed for so long now, it seems...

Firsts and lasts have blurred together in his mind, but he knows that Masamune is dead, knows that intimately, can still feel the shock of the moment it happened like it was yesterday, like it was now. The blood – the kiss.

The words.

"_I waited for you, __**Red**__. Now it's your turn to wait for me."_

"Is that why you're here? Is that what it all means, anyway? You – I waited for you just like you said -"

Moonlight fades and blends with sun and shadow. At his bedside, it is his Dokuganryu, sitting for a moment, smiling, and then standing and holding out a hand. Without thinking, Yukimura reaches out, and the pain of his terrible wound is a vanishing dream -

And one hundred days, and all that came before Masamune.

_A vanishing dream._

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><p>Prompt #4: Insides<p>

Premise: One of them is dying over the long term, and knows it.

A/N: A bit angsty, a bit unreal...Masayuki for the win!

Please Review!


	5. Chapter 5

_~Oneshot Collection: Loved~_

**V.**

**Up The Long Ladder  
><strong>

He feels...a pain. It stretches hot and dry and tight within him; it is furious and deadly and its edges are sharp and light. Nothing, no strength, no power, will ever pull it free from him again. He knew from he moment he took his first step down this path that here, alone in the dark of his own soul was where he would end up.

_I gave him everything._

He hears an answering voice, something of himself as yet unconquered.

_Not enough._

He wants to strangle his own conscience, his own answer to the question he hasn't yet dared to ask. He knows he was unworthy – that there was no promise – no forever – not even an implicit tomorrow.

But everything – everything -

What more could there be, beyond _everything_?

_I don't know. I don't know!_

He clutches his hair, and presses his face against his knees, and cries.

Like the wail of some beast a keening whine escapes him.

* * *

><p>The boy had not been like the others. Oh – he had been willing enough, wanton enough...but there had been something...else...<p>

He puts the pipe to his lips, breathes in, tastes the rich, heavy odor of the smoke on his tongue, closes his eyes and remembers.

"_I want you, Dokuganryu. I want you...I want you to be my lover. Please, I -_ "

_**I think I love you.**_

"I laughed. I laughed at him.."

His own voice sounds rough and broken in the silence; he inhales again, and the smoke is sweet and smooth this time, as sweet as that pale, tanned flesh -

And the eyes – he remembers the eyes, too, glistening, innocent...fresh. His third breath is winter's edge, the new green odor of spring thrusting through the damp. The boy was so lithe, so supple, so warm in his arms, so responsive to every touch -

"Demanding, too, once I got him into it."

He smirks to himself; the expression fades almost at once.

He had not resisted long; he had not resisted at all. Just that first laughter, so surprised, and then the seduction that had been Yukimura laying down his weapons and taking up love. He had seen it – love. So soft, the shining light in Yukimura's eyes – so open all his cries, so honest every moan, every motion...

"I did warn you, _**Red**_. I did, didn't I? That I would destroy you – that I would take everything -"

This is nothing new to him, nothing surprising; his way with all his lovers, the men and women with whom he spends his passion – a night here, a night there.

He is wild samurai; he will not be tied down. Not even if his lover is wild like him – not even then, not even if -

_**I think I love you.**_

* * *

><p>Deny, deny, deny – and live unsatisfied.<p>

The mantra, the cold, hard steel against his cheek as he leans, sweating in the midday sun, against the solid weight of his own spear -

None of it is enough. He is the opposite of grounded; the heat of his body, the heat of his memory far outstrips the cold press of the blade. For six days, six nights, he has trained himself to exhaustion and now there is no more movement in him.

Not another thrust.

Not another kick.

Not another step -

_I burn. Why...why, how, when I barely have the energy to breathe – **how** can I want him still?_

He pulls the spear away from the ground, groans as his muscles stretch and twinge in protest, and falls back, lays splayed with his arms wide and stares up at the sky. It is not just his body that is tormented, though he cannot quench his memory, cannot keep that single night from unfolding in his mind

His eyes squint at the bright blue day, and he sees in it a smile, a stare -

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I -"

He stops mid-shout, and thumps his head against the grass. He closes his eyes, closes out the blue, closes out the light.

_Deny, deny, deny – and live unsatisfied._

* * *

><p>The woman is soft beneath him, warm curves and lush thighs that are willingly, easily parted. He drives into her and listens to her gasp and moan beneath him, watches her turn her head and bite the edge of her silk robe to quiet herself. She is beautiful, and noble, and proud; an excellent conquest. She is lusty, too, and knows what it is she has gotten into – he need feel no sorrow upon leaving her, no guilt, but...<p>

_She is not Yukimura._

The thought strikes him sharply as a spear, and he pants, thrusts faster, harder, tries to pour all his attention into the woman below him – the shape of her face in her climax, the feel of her body beneath him, the shape of her hips, the warmth of her breasts in his hands, the grasping, slick heat that pleasures him.

But the more attention he pays, the worse the thought attacks him. In flashes, he sees a different lover – another face, another ecstasy. He closes his eyes, and gives in for just one moment, indescribable; how tight around him, how smooth that skin...how strong the limbs that bent for him so easily, how beautiful, how perfect was that face, in momentary pain, in pleasure -

As sudden as the memory, his climax overtakes him; pleasure thrums through his body, and he groans.

It is a keening, begging sound; he lays his head against the woman's breast and pants, lets his body come down from that painful high.

Afterwards, the woman holds him; her smile is faint, and when she finally speaks Masamune is overcome with terror.

"Who is she, Masamune-sama?"

"Who is...who?"

"The woman you were calling for – Yuki?"

There is a flare of lightning, a crash of thunder, the sound of falling rain.

Before the next flare he is on his feet, half-dressed, wild-eyed, darting out into the storm.

When he is alone on the muddy streets of the city, rain pelting down on him, fear gleaming like a sword in his grey eyes – he knows.

He knows, and does not hold back.

"_**Red. Red! **_Yukimura!"

His voice is drowned in the sudden downpour; he stands there still, crying out that name.

He does not know if he is begging gods or demons or Yukimura himself.

* * *

><p>He cannot stand the city – he has never been able to stand the city. The sounds of it, the smells, the press of people going about their lives; the cries of women and children, the arguing of men, the occasional clash of weapons, arguing voices, the sound of a woman in pleasure, doors slamming open and shut, feet pounding in the dust...<p>

He stands alone amidst it all, and remembers why he is there, and tries not to care. Sasuke's recommendation: food, sake, perhaps some other lover. Even the thought is pain. He is sure that _Dokuganryu_ has no such problem, no such difficulty; he is sure that this agony belongs to him alone.

He wanders dusty streets with one hand on a spear and the other shading his eyes; he tastes the food of street vendors, stumbles into a cool, dark room at midday, and drinks fine, expensive sake, cool and floral on his tongue. The afternoon grows dark; clouds drop from high in the sky like lead weights and spread, melting along the horizon.

By the time the thunder and the lightning begin, Yukimura has drifted into a black haze of thought.

_How discarded...how empty I feel now. Is this what it's like to be one of those women who wait? To be unsure, to be faithful to a dream, a memory...to hurt, all the time?_

"Damn..._Dokuganryu_. Couldn't just...keep his hands...to himself."

"My lord...my lord, perhaps you should wait out the -"

"Damn you _Dokuganryu_! Get – get...your hands..."

The bartender backs away and holds up his own hands, placating, fearful of the sharp tone and the samurai armor and the youth of this man who has been sitting in one spot, suffering, all afternoon. Yukimura staggers out into the rain, and the cold shock of it penetrates the drunken fog covering his thoughts. He stands with his head down and his fists clenched, and lets the water run into his hair and soak through his clothes and slip down the dark, tanned skin of his chest.

He hears his own name them, a harsh, desperate shout; at first he thinks it is the rain – the thunder – a hallucination. Then he wonders if it is Sasuke, come to retrieve him – but it hasn't been that long, and Sasuke would never be shouting like that, never.

Slowly, he makes his way down the street – until he can see the man making the cry, hear the anguish in it, sharp and soothing as suicide.

_Dokuganryu_.

"_Dokuganryu!_"

* * *

><p>His head whips to the sound of his name, to the sound of that voice, and he sees Sanada Yukimura standing in the rain, with his head thrown back and the hate and the love and the pain all painted clear and lovely on his face.<p>

He wants to run to him, but pride restrains him – a samurai's dignity. He wants to open his arms and wrap them tight around Yukimura, wants to make promises of forever and forever and never again -

He is not prepared for Yukimura's fist to drive into his face, turning his cheek aside, sending him head-over-heels into the mud. He is not prepared for the cold, wet shock of the ground splashing up around him, and he is not prepared for the smooth, muscled heat of Yukimura's body over him, those strong brown arms holding him down.

Instinctively, he wrestles against that hold; he smells sake on Yukimura's breath, and the indefinable odor of Yukimura's own skin.

He feels the rain change, grow hot instead of cold, tastes salt falling on his lips and looks up wide-eyed at tears streaming from Yukimura's eyes, at the agony there – so much more than he himself has suffered, so much more than he expected.

"_**Red. Red –**_ enough, _**Red**_!"

He has to dodge another fist, slower this time; he catches it and hears the murmur that has been flowing from Yukimura's lips this whole while -

"Love you. Love you, love you, hate you...Hate you! But I _love_ you..."

A shiver flickers across Masamune's skin.

He reaches up with both hands and cups Yukimura's cheeks, pulls him down, down, down and presses his lips against Yukimura's muttering mouth.

There is stillness; and then those soft lips moving against his, all other sensation fading – the cold mud beneath them and the cold rain above them.

"**Red –** **Red**, I've been such a fool. I will never, never, never -"

"I know. I know – but I should have said it before -"

_How much I love you._

And then they are whispering nothing, nothing and love.

* * *

><p><strong>Premise: <strong>Masamune takes his pleasure where he chooses. Yukimura is desperately in love with the one-eyed dragon. What is the price for a dream fulfilled? What is the consequence of a rival despoiled?

Prompt: Outsides

A/N: Well, it's been a while, hasn't it! But, onward towards a goal of 100 fics! As always, be sure to check out Naqaashi's Beloved, the twin series to Loved. And keep an eye out for more in the soon!

Please Review!


	6. Chapter 6

~_ Oneshot Collection: Loved ~_

**VI.**

**Body and Soul**

In the _shiro _of the One-Eyed Dragon at Oushu, there is a certain room that no one enters but Date Masamune.

It is in a wing that is empty, and there is no reason for any visitor to wander that way; it is unlit, the gardens untended, the walls overgrown, the sparse furniture covered with dust. Still – it has one occupant, and it is because of _him_ that the wing has not been torn down completely.

It is because of _him_ that a single room remains opulent as an Imperial harem.

During the day, that wing is silent – but during the night...

During the night, it echoes with screams of terror and passion, hatred and lust.

And love, too - maybe.

Or was that just once?

* * *

><p>"It's for your own good, you know. You could never handle the truth; you could never just deal with reality – the world is the way it is, <em><strong>you see<strong>_?"

Dead eyes stare back at him – the glint in them gone, the light dimmed past even the potential of sparkle. Part of Masamune misses the fury and the raging and the days when every moment was a fight; part of him is glad that Yukimura seems finally to have accepted things the way they are.

He reaches out a hand and brushes shaggy hair away from Yukimura's cheek; he frowns. Even the flinch is gone.

"I promised I'd love you forever; you do remember, don't you? _Forever_, _**Red**_."

His hands stroke the skin of his lover, his rival – the one he had conquered once and forever, and then could not let go of.

Yukimura makes no sound, does not move even when Masamune has pressed himself deep into his body.

* * *

><p>Yukimura is remembering the first time. He is remembering love, the feeling burning him, so strong, so impossible – the forbidden, cliché desire.<p>

_I am a samurai, who loves another samurai._

He has seen the prints and the pictures – he has flushed nearly purple at the sights and his own imagination's immediacy in imprinting Masamune's face, and his face, on those salacious images. When it happens, and Masamune's hands are touching him, the calluses are exactly where he thought they would be; his hands are strong and rough and oh, so gentle -

And then there is pain, a moment's brief and passionate pain, such lovely pain...

For the first time Yukimura feels complete, and it is more than the pleasure, though that is sharp and delicious and new.

It is Masamune -

And he breathes the words in that moment without thinking of the future that they paint.

"_I love you – I love you – I love you -_"

* * *

><p>Two weeks later came the wedding. Masamune and <em>some woman<em>. Yukimura has never allowed himself to acknowledge her as more than that; he has never forgiven her in his thoughts, because he cannot hate Masamune for her presence even though he tries, cannot despise him even in the deepest terror, can only fight, and succumb, and fight, and succumb.

To the inevitable pleasure; to the inevitable pain.

The pain he had tried to avoid with angry words –

"_You have your woman now, you have your wife! You will never have me again; you will never touch me, do you understand? I will not be only a body to you, only a secondary distraction!"_

He had known it was coming, someday – he had not thought it would be so soon. And then -

The hilt of a blade striking his temple, quick and bright as a flash of lightning. A whisper, following him into the dark:

"_I'm sorry, __**Red**__, but I can't let you go. Not now...not ever._"

Waking to blackness, and silence, and no one -

Waking to find himself a prisoner, forever bound.

* * *

><p>In the <em>now, <em>he can feel what Masamune is doing to him; in his body, there are sensations that he knows he should find pleasing; in his heart, there are shards of darkness beating in time with his blood.

_Lub-dub, _and _that woman_..

_Lub-dub_, and _my_ _Dokuganryu_...

_Lub-dub_, and _I am a caged beast_...

_Lub-dub_, and _I hate you, Masamune.._

_Lub-dub_, and _I love you, too._

Yukimura wonders if there is really any difference.

It doesn't matter.

Someday, Masamune will make a mistake...

And then it will all be over.

Yukimura knows it will end in _**red**_.

* * *

><p>The day comes sooner than he thinks. The household staff know better than to bother Masamune in this one place, in this one room – but Kojuurou comes to find him one night, only to stare wide-eyed at what he sees...<p>

And then turn away and speak in low tones that Yukimura hears with terrible resentment.

"_Masamune-dono, your wife has begun her labor._"

For the first time, Masamune gets up from Yukimura's body and tosses on a robe without bothering to wash the scent of their sex from his skin, leaves without stopping to check if the chains that hold Yukimura are solidly and safely locked.

It is the mistake Yukimura has been waiting for.

When Masamune is gone, and Kojuurou with him, and the room is quiet and dark again, Yukimura stands and sways and takes a deep breath, and there is a clatter as the chains fall free.

* * *

><p>Yukimura does not leave; it has been weeks, months, and those who knew him probably think him dead. His muscles are weak and atrophied; his stomach rumbles with hunger and his head spins when he takes six steps across the room.<p>

The lunch he did not touch is still sitting; quickly, he eats, not bothering with chopsticks or napkins or tea. He gulps the soup, inhales the rice and roasted meats, empties a platter of fish and another of steamed dumplings.

Then he lays back and closes his eyes, and listens – and waits...

* * *

><p>When he opens his eyes again, the room is completely dark. The lamp has gone out and not even a sliver of light is visible from outside.<p>

_I must have dozed off._

He hears the sound of an infant, wailing – loud in the still night – and then the cheers of many men.

_A son._

The thought is spiteful.

_Well, so you finally got what you wanted, Dokuganryu._

It is not long after that before Yukimura hears the footsteps that he knows so well, coming back toward his room down the empty halls of Yukimura's empty wing.

Yukimura takes a knife from the table that holds the remains of lunch.

_I must be quick as the serpent._

Masamune opens the door, and Yukimura sees his eye, reflecting the light of the lamp he carries into the dark.

He takes three steps forward, and slashes once, twice. Masamune's eye goes wide with surprise and sorrow; he does not make a sound.

Blood gushes thick and red from his throat.

Yukimura leans close, and whispers near his ear.

"We'll be together now just like you wanted, Dokuganryu."

The knife slides home easily between Yukimura's ribs, up into his heart.

_Lub-dub_.

_Lub_.

_Dub_.

* * *

><p>The fallen lamp catches blood and silk and flesh alike, sends smoke curling up into the night, ignites screams of fear and grief and frustration.<p>

One spirit coils in agony, reaching out.

One spirit rejects with all that it is.

They come together regardless, bound timeless beyond the coiling illusions of this world.

And amidst the smoke, the sound of an infant crying -

And a woman wailing -

And the breathless night.

* * *

><p>Premise: Either Yukimura or Masamune is married; what are the consequences?<p>

Prompt: Hours

A/N: Hmm...well, now...a bit of difference, a bit of distress...a bit of dark and deviltry, so – don't forget to check Naqaashi's "Beloved" which is of course updated in counterpoint with this one-shot collection. Also should mention, these have been completed for quite some time. But...somehow...we...managed to forget that they existed. Um...Oops? Anyway, they were discovered because we're at work on number seven, so hold up hope and...tada? XD

Please Review!


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